For about five years in the mid
1990's, I worked in television. Children's television, if you can believe
that. I worked for Nickelodeon Studios in Orlando, Florida, and I was
freelance the entire time. Man. I guess impermanence is just in my
blood.

Perhaps the oddest job I ever
had in television was that of the "Continuity Person." I think
most people know what "continuity" means in relation to film and TV,
but I'll explain just in case. Say you're watching a film or TV show and
you notice, for example, in a scene in a restaurant, that someone's glass is
empty. And they cut away to someone else, and when they cut back, the
glass is full again. That means the continuity person screwed up.
Or, more likely, it means the actor screwed up by drinking his prop, and the
continuity person didn't notice. Or even more likely, the actor
screwed up, the continuity person did notice, but the production was
behind schedule and the director didn't care and they went ahead and moved on to
the next scene. Then again, the whole thing could have been perfect and
they just hacked something out or rearranged it in the editing room. Not
that I blame the editor.

The continuity person is there
to make sure everything stays the same from take to take, so when the film or
show is edited, everything will match. Thus, the actor and director are
the greatest enemies of the continuity person, because the actor is an idiot who
messes with things between takes and the director is an idiot who is behind
schedule and figures no one will notice the error.

Continuity entails watching
everything. Absolutely everything. Which is impossible. I
tried tackling it a thousand different ways. I made lists of possible
trouble spots for each scene during rehearsal. What major props might be
disturbed? What marks had to be hit? Where were lines going to be
delivered from? Were things being carried around? Were jackets or
hats being put on or removed? Were sofa cushions being displaced?
Dishes being moved? Forks being lifted? Glasses being filled?

This was all pointless, because
it doesn't really matter what happens in rehearsal. All that matters is
what happens when the scene is being shot, and when we actually shot the scene,
I couldn't take notes, because I couldn't look down at my notebook, because if I
did, I would miss something on the screen. So I just had to
remember. Everything.

One show I worked on, a sitcom,
if it can be described as that (it was lacking both in situations and
comedy), contained an episode revolving around kids selling candy for
school. There was a very long scene where one of the kids had to hold a
big box of candy the entire time. The prop guys had loaded the candy into
the box in a jumbled manner, so there would be candy bars sticking up at all
angles, making it easier to see. We did about 700 takes, and on the final
take, I noticed I couldn't see the candy bars anymore. While the director
was talking to one of the actors, I walked up to the kid with the candy and
peered into the box. The candy was all neatly stacked. I asked what
had happened, and he said he had stacked the candy up neatly. I asked
when, exactly, had he done this, and he didn't know. "A while
ago," I believe, was his final answer. I didn't ask why,
because there could be no possible acceptable answer in this universe or any
other, that would adequately explain why this kid had neatly stacked the candy
in the middle of a scene.

As a continuity guy, I should
have noticed this immediately. But I hadn't. As an actor, he should
have known not to do something so stupid as to screw with a prop in the middle
of a scene. But he was a dipshit. Still, if there were a problem
editing it later on, it would have been my ass on the line, not his.

Continuity is also thankless
job, like any of the technical jobs are. No one will congratulate a boom
operator for keeping his mike out of frame all day, but the minute the boom dips
into frame, someone in the booth will shout "BOOM IN" over the
headsets. If it happens again, jokes will be made about the boom needing
make-up if it's going to have that much screen time, or it will be suggested
that perhaps the boom should start receiving SAG benefits.

Continuity is a little like
that. No one will congratulate a continuity person on a day without
hitches. The words: "Dude... greaaaaaaat continuity today" will
never be spoken in sincerity. You only get noticed when you fuck up, which
you most certainly will.

I did, once, get completely
chewed out by one of the writer/producers. I had missed a detail.
There was a shot of a kid reading something off a piece of paper. About
two hours later, the director set up another shot, which would be over the kid's
shoulder as the kid read off the piece of paper, and he wanted to know where the
kid's hands had been. Like, had she been holding the piece of paper near
the top, the middle, the bottom, etc. I had no clue. I hadn't
thought to note the position of the kid's hands. Why? Because I
hadn't known the director would be trying to get an over-the-shoulder shot later
on. Why hadn't I known? Because the director hadn't told me.
Why hadn't he told me? Because he had just fucking decided to do it.

Still! I respect the
director's right to decide on new shots at a moment's notice. I only asked
that they respect the fact that I hadn't been able to see into the future.
They didn't. The writer/producer, who was on set at the time, looked at me
and shook his head. "You should have caught that, Chris," he
said loudly, meaning I should have known where the kid's hands had been.
"I can't catch everything," I snapped.

Later, in his office, after
chewing me out in front of the unit manager, he said to me: "What
really bothered me was that you said you couldn't catch everything. You have
to catch everything. You have to catch everything. And
I'm not stupid. I know you can't catch everything. But you have
to catch everything."

It's the worst job description
in the world. You have to, but you can't, but you have to. How are
you supposed to deal with that? Have to. Can't. Have
to. I started hating it. After that show, I moved on to other
things.

Still, I think I have
retained some of those habits. When I watch movies or TV, to this day, I
often watch background actors, and props, and wardrobe, and little things off to
the side, especially if the movie or show is boring. And I spot mistakes
all the time.There are probably a lot of
people reading this who do the same thing, having never done it for a
living. Everyone notices things on TV and in films, little (and especially
big) errors in continuity. Only they probably blame the continuity person,
while I blame the idiot actors and jerkhole director.

The weirdest thing about
continuity is that for a while there, I was doing it even when I wasn't watching
a screen of any kind. For example, we had a party at an amusement park one
time. One of the "actors" from the show, Josh, was there, riding
around on the Go-Kart track. I was sitting there, waiting my turn,
watching Josh and the others driving around the track. Since I was used to
watching Josh all day (because Josh was an idiot who screwed with props a lot),
I was watching him then. Josh was wearing a hat. On the first two
laps around the track, Josh had his hat on, but on the third lap, he did
not. I guess it had either blown off or he had taken it off. The
point was, he wasn't wearing his hat on this go-round.

And I said, out loud, automatically:
"Josh isn't wearing his hat."

Of course, it didn't matter
that Josh wasn't wearing his hat. Why would it? If it a camera had
been taping him, it would have. And it was then I discovered that, in my
mind at least, a camera was always taping everything.

While discussing this with a
guy I worked with, he said he knew a continuity person who had the same
problem. She'd been at it so long, that when dining with friends, she
would absent-mindedly memorize the placement of their glasses and dishes and
silverware and food on the table, and she could recall exactly what they'd
ordered months later. She could even tell you the order in which they
ordered.

Thankfully, I never got that
bad. And unfortunately, I never got that good.

Which means it's time for all
those great summer movies to start hitting the theaters and start sucking like
chest wounds. It's simply amazing, this slate of suck that's headed our
way. Everything just looks so BAD. And I think I know why.

As you know from watching movie
stars being interviewed and talking about themselves in hushed tones, being a
movie star isn't easy. It's hard. And it's harder for them, because
not only are they all incredibly talented people, they're also all incredibly
complicated people. And they never look happy. Which leads me to
this conclusion:

These sucky movies are a cry
for help. The stars, they are miserable, and they want to die. And I
want to help them die. And with that awkward, pathetic attempt at a
segue, let's take a look at some summer suck that will soon be infesting our
theaters and brains, and pray for the death of those involved!

Adam Sandler stars in this
remake of the same movie he makes every goddamn summer, about how he's a
gibbering asspony who gets a lot of money and annoys stuffy rich people by
hitting them with things. Along the way, he meets and falls in love with
Winona Ryder, she of the bulging pockets, and wins her heart by talking like a
retarded radiation victim. And you just know he straps on a guitar at some
point and sings some lame-ass song in a high, quavering voice that cracks him up
but leaves everybody else wanting to dig their eardrums out with meat
thermometers. Die, Adam Sandler, Die.

Yeah, I couldn't believe it
either. But it's true. They gave this wide-eyed himbo a fucking
film. Anyway, Steve will yet again run around in nature in those stupid
shorts, and yet again show his appreciation for all forms of animal life by
picking them up by their tails and humiliating them. Hey, Steve!
Look, don't touch, you colossal shitstain, and stop giving Australians a bad
name. What with Paul Hogan and Yahoo Serious, we don't need yet another
excuse to start dropping nukes on the outback. Now, DIE! DIE YOU
CROC-MOLESTING TWIT.

I know! Let's take a
really good foreign movie that came out about five years ago and remake it,
American-style, with really loud scenery-chewing has-been actors who yell and
scream on screen for no reason and only lower their voices when speaking in
hushed tones about themselves in interviews! Who wants to watch the really
good, tense, edgy, well-acted version with Stellan Skarsgård, anyway? I
mean, it's got those icky subtitles. Forget it! Watch our version so
you can yet again enjoy Pacino's ranting and raving with lots of tight close-ups
of his disgusting dentures, and so you can watch Robin Williams not acting, but
looking like a man who is trying to look like he's a man who looks like he's
trying to act! Die, Pacino & Williams! Die! Under a
burning bus! Do it now!

Okay, I made it up.
There's no movie called Hal the Hedgehog coming to theaters this
summer. I just really, really, really want Dave Coulier to die a horrible
death, preferably when he's in the middle of doing that goddamn Bullwinkle
impression where he sticks his dumb hands on his head as if they were
antlers. Just die, Coulier. Just die.

K-19:
The Widowmaker: Starring Harrison "I Used to be Cool But Now I Suck;
Also, I Date Walking Skeletons" Ford.

Oh cripes. Harrison
Ford. Speaking. With a Russian accent. This is just a bad,
bad, bad idea. As cool as he once was, Ford has now soured and is far too
craggy and gnarled and scowly to be enjoyed. And let's face it, he can't
act and he never could. Any enjoyment he's ever brought to the screen was
as a cartoon character, like Indiana Jones or Han Solo. And possibly the
guy from Frantic, because he's good at fumbling around like an oaf and
looking confused. But the rest is all suck, and now we shall be treated to
watching him crouch around inside a cramped tin can, getting wet and trying to
speak with an accent? I think I'd rather watch him, oh, I dunno... let's
see... DIE DIE DIE!

Stuart
Little 2: Starring Jonathan "I'm 46 Years Old Now" Lipnicki

Okay. In Jerry Maguire
little Jonathan Lipnicki stole my heart. I admit it. Then I saw his
bored, glassy-eyed, zombie-like "performance" in Stuart Little
and decided he should die. Plus, hasn't he aged at all? I'm just
sure he's a huge lumbering fullback by now, hardly the type to star in another
bastardization of the charming children's book. If you ask me, they made
an un-aging Lipnicki Robot and killed the kid. It would help explain his
"acting." And for the love of God, won't anyone cast Hugh Laurie
as anything other than a stodgy bore? The guy is one of my favorite
comedic actors, and he's completely wasted in films like this. Die!
Die, Hugh L-- er, no. Live, Hugh Laurie! And get in better
films. But DIE, LIPNICKIBOT! DIE!

Oh, goody. Yet another
film from the director of Shigatsu Monogatari. Great. Just
what we needed. And I'm just sure it's pulsating, shimmering mirage
of humanity in a moviegoing landscape rubbed smooth and uncomplicated by a
thousand Styrofoam blockbusters. I'm certain it's an exploration of possibility
and purity, of claustrophobia and beauty, of the sometimes painful and often
inexplicable roller coaster of emotion that makes up adolescence. And I'll
just bet it demands something of its audience: concentration, patience, a strong
stomach for harrowing emotions, and what it takes, it gives back as a soaring
wave of light and sound that washes over you, and carries you out to sea.
Swell. Wonderful. Now, DIE!!!

Die, Lillard. Die, Prinze,
Jr. Die, Gellar. Everyone involved in this, die. Even you,
Rowan Atkinson. I have the Black Adder DVD collection, you have served
your purpose. Death now. For you and all of them. Except the
chick who plays Velma. She can come over and sit on my face for a
while. But DIE THE REST OF YOU! DIE! AND HURRY! THERE
ISN'T MUCH TIME!

Whoops. Totally forgot to
throw you some new Diversions yesterday. My bad!

First, a cool Flash 5
game: Russian Roulette! Just pick a name, a password, and how
many bullets you want in the gun. A very edgy and fun game, and it keeps
track of how you're doing. In Roadies, another Flash game, you have
to get the roadies through the stage while avoiding managers and
musicians. This will result in lots and lots (and lots) of bouncing.
This game takes a while to get the hang of, but it's fun. Finally, the Four
Rooms of Kharon. Which is kinda like Myst, in that there's a
lot of wandering around clicking things and trying to figure out what the hell
you're supposed to be doing. It's also Flash, and takes roughly three
weeks to load. Enjoy! Links on the left side in a box somewhere.

Also, the worksafe page, which
once again wasn't working in versions of Netscape 4, is now working, thanks yet
again to random, and can be reached by clicking that little square up
on the right.

You know when you're walking
around the mall, and you see that person with the clipboard trying to make eye
contact with shoppers? They'll usually ask for a few minutes of your time
to conduct a survey, and you'll usually skirt around them as if they were
smeared with feces. At least, that's what I usually do. Until
one day it hit me. A few minutes? Hell, I got about a zillion
minutes I ain't doing anything with. So, I agreed to take part in their
survey, and was told they'd pay me ten bucks!

I followed the woman with the
clipboard to a room in the mall, where I was introduced to Colin. Colin
was... how should I put this... Colin was William Shakespeare's wet dream.
Tall. Commanding presence. Big, booming voice. Expressive
face. Wavy, silver hair. And British. Oh, so goddamn British,
was he. There has never been anyone nearly as British as Colin.
Colin made James Bond sound like Slim Pickens. This was a man born, born
I say, to perform Shakespeare to sold-out crowds in London and New York, to
dazzle critics and theatergoers, to die dramatic deaths as Hamlet, Macbeth,
Antony, to draw ten, twelve curtain calls.

It seems Nabisco, maker
of Oreo cookies, was thinking of making changes to their formula, and had
produced some slight variations in both the cookie part and cream part.
I'd be earning my ten bucks by eating these new, modified cookies, and telling
Colin how they tasted. We're not talking about anything major, here.
They looked like regular Oreos and really didn't taste a whole lot
different. And once you've eaten seventy-five marginally different Oreos,
you kind of forget what the regular Oreos taste like, in fact, you forget what
the very last Oreo tasted like. You also start getting extremely sick.

Still, you get through
it. And you get through it because Colin, the Lawrence Oliver of Cookie
Focus Groups, is just so goddamn entertaining.

He sat before me at this table,
sliding me cookie after cookie, which I would eat. After each one, he
would lean forward, his eyes locked on mine, his bushy eyebrows twitching, and
in his great, booming, commanding, theatrical voice, he'd ask:

"Now.... what...
did you think.... of THAT cookie..."

The dramatic pauses, the
accent... I was in utter awe and suspense, even though I knew what questions he
would ask after each cookie, and that I would be the one supplying the actual
answer. But it was suspenseful, because he made it so.
He was the kind of guy who could read something utterly boring, like the phone
book or the Bible or a Caleb Carr novel, and make it simply captivating.
It was as if I were sitting on my folding chair not in some tiny room in a mall,
but on a stage, watching one of the greats perform right in front of me.

He'd ask about the cookie part
first, giving me multiple answers to choose from, starting slowly yet growing
louder and more dramatic toward the end of the choices:

CHEF CHRIS, BLINKING, SHUFFLES
INTO THE KITCHEN, WEARING BAGGY PAJAMA BOTTOMS AND AN OPEN BATHROBE, A CIGARETTE
DANGLING FROM HIS LIPS. HIS HAIR IS A MESS AND HE IS UNSHAVEN. HE SQUINTS AROUND
UNCERTAINLY.

Chef Chris:
(bleep). Oh, uh, right. Breakfast. Okay. Umm... lessee
what we've got in the fridge. Looks like I got... eggs... bacon... and
bread. Man, how long has that milk been in there? (coughs) Okay, I
guess I could make a (bleep)ing omelette and bacon and uh... whadyacallit.
Toast. And coffee, (bleep), I need some (bleep)ing coffee.

CHEF CHRIS STARTS COUGHING
UNCONTROLLABLY AND STAGGERS OVER TO THE STOVE. HE TURNS ON ONE OF THE
BURNERS AND LIGHTS HIS CIGARETTE WITH THE OPEN FLAME.

Chef Chris: Okay.
(another coughing fit). Okay. Hi. Okay. So, we'll start
the bacon first, since I think that takes longest. And you'll see I have
two frying pans here, one big and one kinda small, and they're both... mostly
clean. So, we'll turn on the burners under them... nope, wrong ones...
okay. Now, we'll open the package of bacon. Remember, when you buy
bacon, buy high quality bacon. If you go to some cheap (bleep)ing grocery
store, they'll have cheap bacon that is mostly fat, like this bacon
is. So, buy better bacon than I do, because this bacon is almost entirely
white. Okay, I'm cutting the package open with, ah... this knife, and now
I'm peeling some slabs of bacon off, and they're kind of ripping because they're
all stuck together. And I've got (bleep)ing bacon fat all over my hands
now. Great. Great start. Where are my (bleep)ing glasses?

CHEF CHRIS DROPS THREE FATTY
STRIPS OF BACON INTO THE SMALLER FRYING PAN AND THEY START SIZZLING.

Chef Chris: That looks
gross. And they don't really fit in the pan. Okay, let's see.
I guess we'll break the eggs into a bowl... a bowl. Um... I don't have a
clean bowl. But I have a measuring cup, we'll use that.

CHEF CHRIS BREAKS THREE EGGS
INTO A MEASURING CUP AND STIRS THEM WITH A FORK.

Chef Chris: I think
you're supposed to add some water to make them fluffy, but I dunno. I
guess I'll do that. Oh, I need to start the coffee, too. Oh, and
(bleep), I gotta butter the other pan. Do I have butter? I don't
think I have butter. Oh, there's a tiny sliver.

CHEF CHRIS PUTS THE TINY SLIVER
OF BUTTER IN THE LARGE PAN AND SLIDES IT AROUND WITH A BUTTER KNIFE.

Chef Chris: Okay, that's
all the butter. I don't, uh, I don't know what will go on the toast.
Maybe some jelly, although I think it's pretty old. Anyway, we'll pour the
eggs into the big pan now, and when you do this, make sure you don't spill a
bunch of it over the stove like I just did. And don't have a couple bags
of old clothes piled up in front of the stove because you keep forgetting to
drop them off at Goodwill. Because then it's hard to reach the stove, and
you have to lean way over and you spill your eggs all over the (bleep)ing place.
Also, I don't think the bacon is cooking right, because the pan is too small and
the ends are sticking out. So, I'm just gonna cut them in half with...
where'd I put that knife... okay, a different knife... while they're frying and
OW! OW AGHHH OW (bleep) OW!

THE BACON IS SIZZLING AND
SPITTING.

Chef Chris: OW!
MOTHER(bleep)ING (bleep) (bleep)ING (bleep)! HOLY (bleep) (bleep)ING H.
(bleep) ON A TREADMILL! (bleep)! Okay, here's a tip, don't cook bacon with
an open robe or you get boiling fat splattered all over your (bleep)ing
stomach. (bleep). Okay, I'm turning down the heat on the stupid
bacon. Agh, the coffee, I have to get that started.

CHEF CHRIS PUTS COFFEE AND
WATER INTO THE COFFEE MAKER.

Chef Chris: Okay, we've
got that.. oh, (bleep), the (bleep)ing eggs are boiling! What the
hell. Ach, I turned up the heat on the eggs instead of turning down the
heat on the bacon. Okay, I need a spatula... a spatula... ah, who am I
kidding.

CHEF CHRIS USES THE HANDLE OF A
MEAT-TENDERIZER TO UNSUCCESSFULLY FLIP THE EGGS AROUND A LITTLE.

Chef Chris: I gotta add
something to the omelette. Some things are good to add, like ham, cheese,
uh, mushrooms, stuff like that, which I have none of. Mushrooms are gross
anyway. Um, (bleep), the stupid eggs are all in pieces so I'll just make
them scrambled. Whatever. I guess I should start the toast now.

CHEF CHRIS PUTS TWO PIECES OF
TOAST IN THE TOASTER.

ANNOUNCER V.O.: Um...
Chris?

Chef Chris: Okay.
Okay. Now, uh...

ANNOUNCER V.O.: You might want
to do something about the bacon there.

Chef Chris: Shut up, (bleep)face.
I see it. The bacon is spraying fat all over the place, so... I think I'll
drain it. Draining is a big part of cooking, or something. Now, you
can't just pour fat down the drain, you have to pour it in a can or
something. I don't know why, but you do. So, OW! OW (bleep)ing
(bleep). Okay, I don't have a can, so I'll hold the bacon with... where's
my fork... okay, another fork, and pour the grease into this coffee cup.
Swell. Okay, the bacon is back on the stove, and the eggs are kinda
burning, so I'll stir them a little with... (bleep), I just had a fork, what did
I do with it? I just (bleep)ing had it. Okay, a new fork. I've
used like 500 utensils already and I don't know where I keep (bleep)ing putting
them.

ANNOUNCER
V.O.: The toast should be done.

Chef Chris: Dude, shut
up. I know. The toast should be d-- ah, the toaster wasn't even
plugged in.

ANNOUNCER V.O.: (bleep).

Chef Chris: (bleep).

AUDIENCE: (bleep)ing
(bleep).

Chef Chris: Ah, so, we'll
just have regular bread. Is there any butter left at all? Okay, I'll
use jelly. There's only a tiny bit way down the bottom of the jar, so I'll
use yet another stupid (bleep)ing knife to get it out.

AUDIENCE: (coughing)

Chef Chris: The
(bleep)ing bacon is burning. (coughing) And the eggs are burning.
(bleep). I'm, uh, turning all the burners off. Oop, wrong knobs
again. Okay, heat is off, and I've opened a window. (bleep), the
whole place is filled with smoke, great. Uh, I'm going to... spread jelly
on the toast.

ANNOUNCER V.O.: Bread.

Chef Chris: Bread,
whatever. This is a good time to mention that counter-space is important
in any good kitchen, which is why this kitchen sucks and why I'm having to
spread jelly on my bread on the window sill. Gah, why does everything have
to finish at the same time? Eggs and bacon are done and the coffee is
done. I'm going to pour my coffee, now, ah, (bleep)! Forgot I'd
poured bacon fat into that coffee cup. Okay, here's another
cup.

ANNOUNCER V.O.: That's a wine
glass.

Chef Chris: Do you want
to do this? Do I come into your announcer's booth and tell you how to do
your job? Shut up. Now, some sugar. Some... huh. I
bought the wrong kind of sugar. This is confectioner's sugar. Well,
that's great. Why don't they (bleep)ing make the (bleep) (bleep)
(bleep)ing boxes look (bleep)ing different, those (bleep)ing (bleep) (bleep)
(bleep)ing (bleep)s?!? Well, it's still sugar, how bad can it taste,
anyway. Whatever. I'll stir it with a spoon... or, no, no clean
spoons. I'll just use another knife, why not? Okay, the food.
Um, I don't have a plate... a plate... okay, here's a lid to the frying pan,
I'll eat out of that.

AUDIENCE: Are--

Chef Chris: Don't
start. Don't even (bleep)ing start with me, audience. Don't.
If I want to eat out of a (bleep)ing frying pan lid I'm gonna. Okay, I'm
dumping the eggs in, and using the four-hundred and sixty-(bleep)ing-seventh
clean fork in a row, and getting the bacon. Wait, I'm supposed to wipe the
grease off with a paper towel or something. Do I have paper towels?
Oh, screw it. Okay, I-- ew! Ew! Ew! Ewwww!

ANNOUNCER V.O.:
What? What?

Chef Chris: I dropped
some egg on the floor and I just stepped on it with my bare foot. Ugh,
(bleep), that's gross.

CHEF CHRIS HOLDS HIS FRYING PAN
LID UP TO CAMERA, SHOWING THE BURNED, DRIED OUT SCRAMBLED EGGS, THE
GREASE-SOAKED FATTY BACON, AND MUSHY UN-TOASTED BREAD SMEARED WITH CHUNKS OF OLD
JELLY OF AN UNDETERMINED FLAVOR. HE ALSO HOLDS UP HIS WINE GLASS FILLED
WITH COFFEE AND CONFECTIONER'S SUGAR.

Chef Chris: So, there it
is. This is why I don't ever do this.

ANNOUNCER V.O.: Just do your
tagline, jackass.

Chef Chris: I have a
(bleep)ing tagline?

ANNOUNCER V.O.: Yes.
Don't you remember it?

Chef Chris: Dude, I've
got egg on my foot and the kitchen is filled with smoke. It's gonna smell
like bacon in here for months. You do the damn tagline.

ANNOUNCER V.O.:
Fine. That's it for the Temporary Chef, folks, and always remember, that,
uh... (bleep). What is the tagline, anyway?